


Invite

by immortalitylost



Series: immortalitylost's Harringrove for Australia [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Gay Billy Hargrove, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02, they fight, they kiss, they make up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:14:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22332481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immortalitylost/pseuds/immortalitylost
Summary: Their fists meet in the middle. First Harrington's, then Billy's hard retaliation. And Harrington stumbles back. Slips on the tile. He doesn't fall though. Charges Billy instead.Finally.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: immortalitylost's Harringrove for Australia [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1603687
Comments: 15
Kudos: 78
Collections: harringrove for Australia





	Invite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saltstuck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltstuck/gifts).



* * *

Billy’s tripped Harrington up one too many times on the court, apparently. The elbow in the gut out of nowhere is what clues him in.

And Harrington’s grabbing out at Billy’s arm with one splayed slipping hand; has got a fistful of Billy’s sweat-damp hair in the other and he’s taking Billy down with him as he tumbles to the floor.

Which is bullshit.

Billy’d barely even pushed the guy. Fucker never plants his feet.

But it’s fine. It’s great. Because Stevie-boy rolls up to his knees and does something fucking fantastic next. He carries that momentum from the floor into a punch. And the punch is nothing. The punch _gets_ Harrington nothing but this triumphant grin that Billy can’t contain—and the look of confusion on the guy’s face is—just this big ol’ toothy grin, and the fire in Billy’s jaw is about beautiful.

Because finally, _finally_ , Billy’s got King Steve’s attention.

Been leaving the guy be (more or less) for over a week now. Been quiet like Max had demanded, his family jewels on the line. Just watching her. Her stupid geeked-out friends. Watching Harrington.

Wondering what the hell they’re up to.

Now, without even trying, there’s this anger. This formal invitation to get up in Pretty-Boy’s shit. This punch. This dialogue started between them.

They run laps together after practice. Silent. Alone. Coach apparently fed up with their bullshit and leaving them to it. That’s why they’re the only two amigos left in the showers—in the locker room—in the whole goddamn school for all Billy knows, now. Why there’re no other assholes around to make being naked and sudsy in a room together socially acceptable. And Billy has nothing to stare at but all the fading bruises he’d given Stevie-boy last time they’d danced. Nothing to see here but Harrington. Not that Billy’s looking—shit.

“The fuck were you all doing that night, anyway?” he asks—and Harrington knows _which_ night—because it forces Billy to watch Harrington’s face for an answer, except then there’s those goddamn pink—

Water cascades over Harrington’s face, rinsing away his rich-boy sweet shampoo foam. And those dark eyes open. Look too hard at Billy who’s just standing there—Jesus—who grabs a bar of soap to occupy his hands.

“It’s none of your business, Man,” Steve says. “Leave it.”

To which Billy pitches the bar of soap off into a corner. Crowds up on Harrington. None of his business. Tch.

“None of my—the _hell_ it isn’t! That’s my sister you’re—” Not his sister, though, right?

Fuck.

Shoves Harrington out of the shower stream instead of continuing with the talking. Screw the talking. And little icebergs of suds run down the guy’s body as he regains his balance and Billy pointedly doesn’t follow them with his eyes.

Fuck.

He closes on Harrington again. Only now, there’s this mean light in Harrington’s eyes like the guy’s had it up to here and Harrington’s closing the distance to match him.

Their fists meet in the middle. First Harrington’s—oh and that shit’s cute—then Billy’s hard retaliation. And Harrington stumbles back. Slips on the tile. He doesn’t fall, though. Charges Billy instead.

Soon enough they’ve knocked themselves to the floor and are grappling. Elbowing. Rolling and bucking, punching and kneeing and sliding, bare skin slipping across the floor and cut up by the stupid fucking tiles. Tumbling through cold puddles. Scraped raw. And Harrington’s on top of him now, holding Billy down—how the fuck had that happened? Big brown eyes stare down, bright. That flushed victorious face and those pink fucking fuck-me lips are way too close to Billy’s mouth and Billy can’t move. Can’t get away. And he needs to. Like now. Like yesterday.

So he leans up and catches the stupid fucker’s mouth with his mouth—soft lips God God shit. Pushes hard when the idiot inevitably jumps back. Manages to get out from under the guy. Get up to his feet.

And screw showering, you know what? He’s done here.

He hides his softening erection.

Billy punches a dent in his locker and leaves his fist there, leaning in, hanging his head, pressing his raw knuckles deeper to let the pain of it ground him. He tries to get his chest to quit fucking heaving. Lets out a shaky long breath.

“You won’t believe me,” Harrington says, quiet voice from the shower room doorway. Billy looks. Stands. Lowers his stinging fist.

“Try me.”

Billy can believe a lot. In this whole goddamn world there’s nothing that’s what it seems—he knows that much.

He leans back into the locker, cradling his hand. Closes his eyes. For the moment, doesn’t give a shit that he’s naked. That Harrington’s naked. That they’re both here naked together.

And by the time he opens them, Harrington’s too close. Again. Like the fucker _knows_ what it does to Billy and is _trying_ to—

“This came off when we were— Just— Here, okay?”

Guy’s way too close, arms circling Billy’s neck, and Billy feels cold metal settle onto his chest. Looks down. And when he does, their foreheads are almost touching—guy really needs to back off. Billy swallows.

“I think I fixed the clasp thing,” Harrington says, and Billy can feel breath puffing his shoulder when he says it.

Billy closes his eyes and turns his face away. Reaches up to his chest. Feels the medal his mom had— Feels it back where it belongs. Feels the warm circle of Harrington’s arms break and fall to the guy’s sides, one palm skipping over Billy’s chest on the way down and Billy stifles a gasp. Opens his eyes on the disgusting orange walls. Thinks of repetitive chores and algebra. Anything. And his dick behaves.

“The fuck are you so nice for?” he asks, because it bothers him. It’s always bothered him. “I don’t get it. The way Tommy talks—”

“Tommy’s a prick,” Harrington says, quick, and he’s still not backing off. What the hell, Harrington? Back off.

But Billy can’t argue with the sentiment. Puffs a not-quite laugh.

“I dunno,” Harrington goes on, still _right there_. “Guess I just needed a change—people change.”

Billy puts a hand on Harrington’s chest and it’s a little too long before he can make himself push the guy away.

“No.” Billy shakes his head once. “They fucking don’t.”

He turns. Opens his locker loud enough to end the conversation. Needs to separate himself from Harrington with some goddamn clothes already. Can feel the guy milling around behind him. And why hasn’t the bastard mentioned the kiss? Billy’s ready to lie his ass off about that kiss. The fuck kind of game’s Harrington playing, not mentioning it?

“I’m starving,” the guy says instead, startling Billy out of a patch of unbroken silence. Both of them are dressed and Harrington’s locker closes with a click.

“Tell you what,” he says, hands on his hips and hair somehow fucking perfect already when Billy turns to look. “Fuck the government. Come get a burger with me and I’ll tell you all about what’s really been going on in Hawkins so you can prove me right by laughing in my face when you _don’t_ believe me like I said you wouldn’t.”

Billy considers. He _is_ hungry.

“You buyin, Princess?”

Harrington smiles. Pats the wallet in his fat pocket. Fucker.

“Fine,” Billy says. Slams his locker shut.

Harrington chuckles. Turns to go. Looks back with a wicked grin.

“Promise to be nice and I might even share my malt with you.”

Billy freezes a beat, fist clenched. Thinks of repetitive chores. Of algebra. When Harrington turns and starts walking away, he follows.

But God, does he hate the guy.

God.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you loved it.


End file.
